Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews! I was amazed at the response to this story! I'm really glad that you're enjoying it so far :) Sorry for making you wait, but I like to work ahead to a certain point before I update. Hope I'm doing this justice.
Analytica - Ch. 2
He must have dozed off somewhere in the middle of the night, because when he cracks his eyes open, he's greeted by the grey light of mid-morning. He rolls out of bed, and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he enters the bathroom. He looks like a sloppy mess, completely unkempt. His saracastic wit gibes that at least he looks better on the outside than he feels on the inside. The aroma of bacon assualts his senses and after he brushes his teeth, he heads to the kitchen to see his mother making him breakfast. If feels disturbingly familiar, and it reminds him too much of the last time. She places a dish in front of him and he picks at some of it. Mostly he just pushes the food around. He notices that she's not eating. She's just sitting solemnly accross from him. He looks at her and his brow furrows.
"I think you've made the wrong decision," her voice is firm, but gentle.
He eyes her, but doesn't ask for an explanation, knowing she'll give one anyway.
"I know that this is not something that you want to hear, and that as your mother I'm supposed to say what makes you feel better, but you're an adult. You need to hear the truth, whether you want to or not," she pauses and he sits up, giving her his full attention, "I think you've made the wrong decision in leaving Olivia to come here. From what you've told me, it seems as though she'd be more than willing to help you put an end to all of this, and that you could have done that from her side, with her."
Peter cannot speak. Something clicks within him, and he knows that his mother is right. She crosses to him and wraps him in a comforting embrace. He utters a single syllable, 'mom', before burying his face into her shoulder and breathing heavily. He does not cry. Peter Bishop never cries. That's not who he is. But his breath heaves in and out of his chest as he processes what his mother has said to him. He now sadly realizes that he shouldn't have come here. At the time he had made his decision, had overanalyzed his situation, the only rational thought that was nagging at him was to keep Olivia safe by removing the greatest threat to her wellbeing, himself. He knew that for her to be happy, he had to get as far away from her as possible, he had to remove himself from her life. He had known that. Or had he? Now he absolutely knew he was wrong, and he felt like the biggest idiot in any world that had ever existed. Once he's somewhat calmed down, his mother releases him, and rubs her knuckles over his cheek. He tells her he needs to take a walk, get fresh air. She watches as he heads out the back door and disappears into the sparse wooded area behind the house.
His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he's lost in thought as he trudges on heavy feet through the woods. He hears the sound of a twig snapping, followed by rustling. He stops, and his eyes dart around the woods trying to discern the source of the sound. When he sees what has interrupted his melancholia, his heart hurtles into his stomach and then catapults into his throat.
"Peter?" her voice is wary and distrusting.
"Olivia," he nearly whispers.
He couldn't believe his eyes. He looked her over, greedily drinking in every inch of her that his vision would allow. Blonde hair, no wedding ring, and she was definitely not pregnant. In fact, he'd wager that she'd actually lost weight. She looked frail, almost like a ghost of herself. He realized he must look the same from the way she eyed him. The moment was gone and something dark and fierce beset her gaze. Instinctively, she trained her gun on him. He was her enemy now. Slowly, he withdrew his hands from his pockets and raised them submissively in the air.
"I'm not armed," he stated evenly, trying to calm her.
She stared at him, not knowing whether she could trust him.
"Olivia," he said her name again, and heavy sadness tinged his voice.
She holstered her weapon, and turned from him, but did not walk away. She couldn't face him. She didn't want him to see her looking so weak. He'd broken her so badly, and the pain he had caused her never fully went away. One hand rested on her hip, and the other ran through her hair. She was breathing deeply, and she felt her heart miss a few beats as she heard him approaching her.
"Livia, what are you doing here?" he sounded more concerned than anything else. She was expecting anger, or rejection.
"I," her voice was soft, barely audible, "I don't know."
He gently turned her to face him, and he asked her, "How did you get here?"
She swallowed and started mumbling, "There was a man, a suspect. We were chasing him. He started shooting at us. The next thing I remember is suddenly just... being... here."
Her eyes did not meet his. They stared at a tree trunk, wide with fear.
"You're scared," it was a statement.
She nodded, still avoiding his gaze.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Livia," his voice was low when he spoke.
At this her gaze immediately snagged his, and she glared, "I think it's a little too late for that, Peter." She spat his name, and he winced.
Instantly, she turned from him and stomped off further into the woods. He knew that if someone were to catch her, she'd be killed, or worse. He had to go after her.
"Oliv-" he tripped over a twig, but kept going, "Olivia! Where are you going? You can't do that, someone could see you!"
She stopped momentarily, then quickened her pace. It wasn't until she'd caught her ankle on the root of a tree and fallen over, successfully twisting it, that he'd been able to catch up with her. She growled frustratedly at her predicament, and he knelt beside her. He took her ankle into his hands and squeezed it gently. She grimaced, and he knew she'd twisted it badly.
She looked at him intently, "I hate you."
"I know," he undoubtedly believed that she meant every word.
He studied her, and when she made no movement to remove herself from the situation or his presence, he offered, "You should come back to the house."
Her head whipped around and she glared at him again, "Why would I want to go back with you to your house?" She was livid, "What? So, so, I can see how happy you are in your life here? In some house that you share with her? Why would I ever want to do that?"
"It's not like that," he stated as he scooped her up into his arms.
"Peter, put me down," her furious tone denoted serious warning as she tried to shove him away, "now."
"Oh, you think you can walk?" he asked sarcastically as he swiftly settled her on her feet.
She took one ginger step and stumbled. She blushed a deep shade of crimson when he picked her up again to carry her.
"I really hate you," she restated.
They would've laughed at this situation under previous circumstances, but the animosity that filled the air sucked any remotely happy emotion into a black chasm of nothingness. He had to resist the urge to place gentle kisses along her temple once she'd wrapped an arm around his shoulders for support. Upon entering the house, he set her down on the living room sofa. She looked around for signs of her doppleganger, but found none.
"Where have you taken me?" she demanded.
"This is my mother's house," he explained, "I was visiting her."
"Oh," she uttered.
"I'm not, you know, married," his voice waivered as he spoke nervously, "I'm not even with her."
Olivia looked at Peter like she didn't believe him.
"She is, though," he explained, although he didn't know why, "married. She's, uh, she's pregnant."
Olivia looked sick. Her voice sounded hoarse when she spoke, "Is it, it's not..." She couldn't finish her sentence.
"Mine?" he finished it for her, and added, "God, no. We never, I mean, not over here. Not since..."
They used to talk so easily, but now, they couldn't even finish their sentences. Her eyes narrowed momentarily in confusion.
"So, Frank's?" she asked cautiously.
"No, actually, do you remember Lincoln Lee?" he inquired.
"Yeah, of course," she smiled slightly at that, and a flare of jealousy sparked through Peter, not that he had any right.
He looked down and away, but she was staring directly at him. When he looked back up at her, he saw a question burning behind her eyes.
"What?" his clasped hands fell between his knees as he leaned forward.
"You told me that you were coming over here so that you could be with her," her tone was accusatory, and laced with pain.
"I lied," it was all he could manage to say.
"Why?" her tone almost sounded pleading, but she wasn't desperate.
"It was the only thing I could think of to tell you, so that you'd let me come back over here," he shrugged and leaned back.
"If you didn't come back for her, then why would you even..." she trailed off, and he watched as realisation dawned on her.
"Peter." Her tone was serious and slightly reprimanding, "No. You could not have seriously thought... How could you... You cannot do this by yourself."
A wild look of confusion painted his face, "How the hell did you..." He was at a loss for words. How had she figured that out?
She gave him a look that indicated she knew him more than he thought she did. She understood him like no one ever had before. She always had. He realised that she probably always would.
"You're an idiot," she looked away, shaking her head.
When she looked back at him, it was to bombard him with questions, "What gave you the idea that you could ever do this alone? That I wouldn't want to help you? Why did you think you had to leave? Have you actually thought this through, or did you just get scared and run? Haven't you regretted your decision at all?"
He looked resolutely at her for several seconds before he answered somberly, "Olivia, I have regretted my decision to leave you every single second that I've been here. That was the hardest decision I've ever had to make, in my entire life."
"Then why did you do it? Why did you leave me?" She stated, sounding completely crestfallen.
"I did it to protect you, to keep you safe. I figured as long as I wasn't there, you wouldn't be as much of a target. I did it because I," he didn't get to finish his sentence, because she cut him off.
"Peter, if you truly cared about me, you never would have left me," she was dejected and angry. She sat silently fuming, looking purposefully out a window.
"Olivia," he stated in a serious tone that demanded her full attention, "I love you."
She choked on a breath and tried hopelessly to fight back tears. In a matter of seconds they were running down her cheeks. He sighed her name as he closed the distance between them to wrap her in his embrace. She hastily wiped them away, silently cursing herself for her moment of weakness. He had never seen her cry before. She was different, something in her had changed.
He whispered into her hair, "I am so sorry. Oh, God, Livia. I'm so sor-"
She had pulled back and her lips were on his, swallowing his apologies in a passionate kiss. He felt her tongue run along his bottom lip, and he allowed her to explore his mouth as he roamed hers. One hand enveloped her waist, drawing her closer to him, as the other ran through her hair and rested at the base of her neck. One of her hands rested on his shoulder, while the other fisted his shirt. She moaned softly into his mouth and he pulled her even more tightly into him.
"Peter, I thought maybe we could..." his mother's voice trailed off as she descended the stairs and was greeted with the shocking sight.
The pair jumped apart like they had been burned, and Peter accidentally jostled her bad ankle. She hissed in pain, and he offered a few quick 'I'm sorries'.
"Mom," he managed, wiping his mouth.
"Peter?" she questioned hesitantly.
"Mom, this is," he waited a beat, "this is my Olivia."
Well, that's that. Hope I've left you sated enough to last until I update again.
WARNING: The next chapter is going to be rated M.